


The State of his Bedsheets

by FireBreathingBlueBird



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Clumsy Merlin (Merlin), Drinking, M/M, Sort Of, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireBreathingBlueBird/pseuds/FireBreathingBlueBird
Summary: Arthur and Merlin go out drinking with the Knights of Camelot. What happens after is long overdo.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 445





	The State of his Bedsheets

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually posting one of my fan fictions. I hope you guys like it and I look forward to any thoughts!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own voice)

Arthur watched his clumsy manservant from one of the castles many windows. He watched as the gangly boy practically flew through the courtyard, nearly hitting every object that came into his path, only to trip on the stairs and send the pitcher of wine he’d been carrying crashing to the ground. He watched as the sparkling, dark liquid splattered over the stone and pooled in sparse puddles around Merlins hands. He watched it drip like rain down each step and collect between the cracks in the ground. 

He watched as Merlin sighed, only revealed in the dramatic way his twiggy shoulders dropped. And he watched as the idiot he called his friend glanced around the courtyard before the broken pieces of the pitcher began to mold back together and repair itself, the spilt liquid floating up from the stone in a steady stream until settling back inside. He watched as his foolish manservant brushed off his hands, took the newly repaired pitcher and bounded up the stairs; and Arthur shook his head.

“Idiot,” he thought allowed, a little smile of admiration softening his features.

Then he spun on his heal, determined to meet the simpleton halfway. He wasn’t about to let Merlin get away with it and he wasn’t about to make his job any easier. He would have to learn to be more discreet when using his magic, God forbid his father be the next unseen witness.

Arthur had known about Merlins magic since the stunt with the tornado. Just because everyone else had yet to figure it out didn’t mean Arthur was blind. He wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way Will covered for him, noticed the loyalty and the faithfulness that only came with real love and friendship; and he’d been jealous of it. The boy was going to die, and he’d used what little life he had left to protect Merlins secret. With no regrets, Arthur had decided the same and if he were anything, it was honorable. He’d resolved long ago that his life was bound to Merlins and by any means, he was going to stand by the boy.

Because Merlin was carless. Because Arthur was an idiot. Because Merlin was ridiculously clumsy, loyal and caring. And because Arthur was hopelessly in love with him.

\---

Merlin bounded up the steps back into the castle, looking over his clothes to make sure all the wine had disappeared from the fabric, and nearly tripped again on the secondary flight of stairs leading up to Arthurs chambers.

He held the pitcher tight between his two hands and hurried down the hall, maneuvering swiftly around the corner before coming to a screeching halt before the object of his suffering.

“Merlin,” Arthur greeted him with a smile and patted him on the shoulder as he passed. “Oh, is this for me?” He pointed to the pitcher in Merlins hands and took it without waiting for a response. He lifted the jug to his lips and took a large gulp, feigning a sour noise and expression. He pulled it away and pretended to inspect the contents, pinching his face in mock distaste. “Terrible,” he said and pushed it back into Merlins hands. “That’s terrible. You’re trying to poison me. I should have you thrown in the stocks. Get me a fresh pitcher.”

“But-“ Merlin tried to protest as Arthur hurried down the hall.

“Another, Merlin! I don’t have time to coddle you I’m going to be late for a council meeting.”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin called after him and then huffed, bringing the pitcher up to eyelevel and examining the liquid inside.

He looked back down the hall at Arthurs quickly retreating form before gingerly taking a sip. It tasted perfectly fine to Merlin, but then again he wasn’t a royal pain in the arse with, apparently, suddenly high-quality expectations of wine. Or maybe Arthur was just getting sick? In any case, it looked like Merlin was headed all the way back to the kitchens. 

Because Arthur was an entitled prat. Because Merlin was a push over. Because Arthur looked particularly charming and disheveled when he was in a hurry. And because Merlin was completely in love with him.

\---

Merlin was sitting in the window of Arthurs room, polishing each and every boot. He looked up at the table, which he still hadn’t set for super, and raised a single hand. With a golden shift of his eyes, the table set itself, just as the door opened and Merlin hastily pulled his hand back. 

“Wonderful,” Arthur eyed the food as he sauntered inside and clapped his hands. “Did you get me a fresh pitcher of wine?”

“Of course.”

“Great. We’re going out,” Arthur smirked.

Merlin paused his boot scrubbing and gazed up at the table he’d just set, thinking about the new wine and all the food he’d brought up. Then he lifted his eyes to Arthurs amused face.

“We?” He asked.

“With the knights,” Arthur clarified.

“And me?”

“Yes, Merlin. My God. Drop the boots, you can finish later.”

Merlin did as he was told and dropped the boot he was scrubbing to the floor as he stood up, crossing the room and following the prince out the door.

Gawain was schnockered within an hour of arriving at the tavern and Merlin was laughing hysterically with the others as they joined the drunk in whatever ridiculous rendition of a song he was singing. They cheered, clunking their mugs together and taking large gulps of mead. Not wine, Merlin might add.

“So, this is what you’re doing when I can’t find you,” Arthur teased him, knowing full well it wasn’t true. “Poor Gaius. He has to handle you sober; I can’t imagine the image of you drunk. You’re clumsy enough on a good day.”

Merlin scowled and took another drink. “And you,” he directed, setting the mug heavily on the wooden table. “I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of drunken stupors. Don’t lie to me,” he pointed a finger in Arthurs face. “I’ve seen the state of your bedsheets.”

“Have you?” Leon interjected with a grin.

Merlin blushed, “That’s not what I-“

“Have I what?” Gawain interjected, jostling down beside the knight after clobbering off the tabletop. 

“Been up close and personal with our highnesses’ bed sheets,” Leon answered him with a laugh.

“What?” Gawain squawked through the drunken haze. 

“Merlin not you, moron,” Elyan sighed, amused.

“Oh. Have you,” he echoed Leon’s previous words, bouncing his eyebrows as best he could while not actually being able to feel his face. “Been getting cozy-wozy in our princes’ bed? Good for you, Merlin. Now I know why he’s been so eager to leave practice. That’s fine with me, ‘s a lot less work.”

Arthur snorted into his mug. “Alright then. What I’m hearing is ‘too much free time. More work for Gawain’. You got it. You can take over Merlins job and clean all the equipment afterwards.”

Percival laughed and shoved Gawain’s shoulder, pushing him into Leon who pushed him right back.

“So you can have more fun time with Merlin?” He objected. “No thanks, let’s switch.”

“It wasn’t an offer. Have fun.”

Gawain laughed and took another big swig of mead, nearly toppling over the side of the bench and making the other knights chuckle in their half assed attempt to catch him. 

“Knights are vulgar,” Merlin stated with a crooked smile.

“You started it, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking another drink and calling for another round. It was brought immediately.

Merlin had to admit it felt nice not to be the one doing all the work. He decided to just enjoy himself tonight and worry about the consequences tomorrow.

“And then he goes,” Percival wheezed through the mirth of a story awhile later, before doing an absurd impression of Elyan’s voice. “Gawain? Are you still alive?” And then burst into a fit of laughter once again.

“I wasn’t there!” Merlin cried through the noise, tears streaming from his eyes, nonetheless. “What happened?”

“Gawain said, ‘what do you think’ like we should have just expected he was fine,” Elyan defended himself and Merlin kept laughing, surrounded by snickers from the other knights and Percival who spurted mead over the rim of his mug. “It wasn’t that funny. Excuse me for being worried about a friend,” he urged but no one stopped laughing. 

“Okay, okay,” Arthur held up his hands in preparation of a different story but couldn’t manage to keep a straight face and ducked his head back down into his hands, trying to stifle each snort that came from his throat and sending up another wave of hysterics.

Elyan rolled his eyes and took a long drink.

The night had been altogether too long and too short by the time they’d decided it was time to leave the pub. Gawain had collapsed under the table with his foot hanging up over the bench and a mug held securely in his arms. Percival took on the responsibility of dragging him home. Literally.

Neither Merlin nor Arthur had drank enough to be sufficiently drunk, but they leaned against one another anyway as they walked leisurely back toward the castle.

“I’m not saying the exact definition of a dollop head is ‘Prince Arthur’,” Merlin gestured. “I’m just saying, if you looked it up, there would most likely be a picture of you nearby.”

“And if that were true, which it isn’t,” Arthur continued, “I would have you burn every piece of evidence that the word ever existed. Or at least replace the picture with one of you. Or maybe Gawain.”

“Another impossible task,” Merlin muttered.

“Not for you. I’m sure you could manage to pull some trick out of your sleeve.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?” Merlin stalled, his shoulder feeling cold as Arthur continued walking. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Arthur turned to face him with a pointed gaze.

“No. I don’t.”

“Yes. You do,” Arthur stepped forward. Stepped closer. Stepped much closer than would have looked appropriate had anyone been watching. “Find a coin hidden behind my ear. Pull a rabbit out of a hat. Repair a pitcher of wine broken on the stairs,” 

Merlin stared at him wide eyed and took a step back. “How long have you known?”

“Semantics,” Arthur muttered and surged forward, backing Merlin up against the stone wall behind him and pinning him there, diving down to close his mouth around Merlins. 

The sorcerer gasped but didn’t pull away. Arthurs hands were shaking with anticipation, with need, with the fear that he would be pushed away as he dug them into Merlins shirt and circled them around his face, devouring every inch of Merlin he could before he was rejected. But rejection never came and when Arthur finally pulled back, Merlin was shaking as well.

He looked his manservant over, noting the flush in his cheeks and glossy look in his eyes. Arthur had no doubt he looked similar. They could each blame it on the mead, but they would both know it wasn’t true. Standing here in the dark with Merlin pressed against a wall, feeling each shallow breath bellow his fingertips as he moved them over Merlins neck and down his chest to hook around his belt and pull him closer as he pushed forward.

Merlin sighed against the touch and settled his hands over Arthurs wrists, holding him there. “I’m- I was- I didn’t-”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Okay,” Merlin breathed as Arthur kept kissing him, leaning down to lick at his mouth and bite at his lips.

Merlin groaned and took a deep breath, pushing back to take just as much as Arthur dared. His hands left his future Kings wrists and wrapped around his waist, digging up under his shirt to feel the hard muscles flexing over his back. Arthur exhaled, mirroring the movement but instead gripping at Merlins sharp hips and pushing him further up the wall.

Merlin moaned, feeling the cold stone against the heat of his skin and Arthurs rough hands digging into his sides. How long had he wanted this? How long had Arthur? He supposed Arthur was right; semantics.

The prince stepped closer still, forcing Merlins legs to part and wrap around him as he moved the magic of his lips down over Merlins jaw to his ear, where he sucked and nipped and left little love bites over the soft skin of his long neck. Merlin moaned again, louder as Arthur ran his tongue over the shell of his ear.

“Arthur,” he whispered, breathlessly. Trying to regain any sense of logical decision. “What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care,” Arthur buzzed against the juncture between his neck and shoulder, his breath hot, and it felt so good.

“Arthur,” Merlin urged again, knowing he wouldn’t be the one strong enough to end this perfect moment. He’d let Arthur finish him here in the grass, or anywhere else for that matter if he was sure nothing would happen to hurt the future King. But he _wasn’t_ sure, and Arthur was stronger than he was. He hoped.

The prince paused and breathed against Merlins neck, gripping harder at the boys’ hips before slowly releasing him and sliding him back down. Merlin had to fight to keep his knees from buckling as Arthur took his hand and quickly pulled him back to the castle. The corridors were lit but they ran into no one on their way back to Arthurs chambers and once inside, Arthur shut and bolted the door, spinning on his heal and tripping Merlin up onto the table, scattering it’s contents over the floor before unfastening the Warlocks belt and quickly removing his old blue shirt.

Arthur sighed, “Oh come on, Merlin. You’ve got better things to worry about,” he hummed, placing open mouthed kisses along the boys’ collarbone.

“You know I’m going to have to pick it up,” Merlin argued.

Arthur sighed again and stepped back. “Then pick it up.”

“But I-“

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted with a glint in is eye. “Just pick it up.”

Merlin breathed and slid off the table before focusing on the mess. With a tilt of his head, his eyes lit up a brilliant gold that overtook his original soft blue and everything replaced itself on the table. Arthur watched the boy, transfixed, his eyes alight with something else. He could get used to being a constant witness.

Merlin looked up bashfully and Arthur strode forward in a rush, as if to seize his manservant again. Instead he stopped and took the subject of his desire gently by the face, running the pad of his thumbs over the soft skin of his cheeks while Merlin stared up at him, flushed and cloudy eyed. Because Merlin was something to be admired. Because Arthur was a fool. Because Merlin was here in his room, in his arms, shirtless and vulnerable before him. And Because Arthur was hopelessly in love with him. 

He kissed the boy again. Softly. Sweetly. Slowly. Making sure to pour more meaning than he’d ever felt into the motions. Merlin was the one thing he couldn’t live without and that’s what he spent the night trying to prove. That’s how the night was really going to end. 

With Arthur, and Merlin and the state of his bedsheets. 


End file.
